Before I Met You
by Nightingrave
Summary: Ain't college just great? Parties every week, no insane dress codes, one night stands and crazy roommates. Of course, for band and car enthusiast Dean Winchester it was only about to get crazier. On the other hand, poor Castiel Novak's hipster fashion sense and organized lifestyle was about to crash and burn. And it all started with a cup of coffee. DESTIEL ONLY
1. Chapter 1

Saying it all started with a cup of coffee would be overused and cheesy, but that's literally how the socially awkward art student met the most important person in his life.

Of course, it's not as though the coffee held any significance to the meeting. Castiel James Novak just happened to be holding one when he accidentally bumped into a tall, exceptionally built stranger.

I know that's also reasonably cliché, but considering the circumstances, Castiel's terribly made coffee - he had been on his phone at the time of ordering it and it had pissed off the stereotypical teen girl serving him - and file full of papers were inevitably about to be destroyed.

Poor Castiel had been unaware of the other man's presence until the moment they made contact and the coffee spilt all over everything, including the many papers that were now scattered all over the floor. He had been leisurely strolling down the dorm corridor with his nose buried in a rather frustrating email he had received through his phone when suddenly his stuff was everywhere and soaked in coffee.

"Oh no," he groaned out, not even acknowledging the other man as he dropped to his knees and desperately gathered up the definitely ruined sheets. "Oh no, oh no, oh no."

"Man, I'm so sorry," a deep, lovely voice said as an impressively built man crouched in his dark jeans and attempted to help Castiel, who now stared in fright at the intimidating looking man before him.

The man was much taller than Castiel and held a stern face with plump looking lips and what seemed to be bright green eyes - he didn't get a proper look at anything other than his huge, muscular body and brown hair so light that it was almost blonde.

"It's fine." The words came out quick and short before Castiel rudely snatched the papers out of the man's hands and sprinted off, not looking back even as the man called out to him.

Castiel never stopped running, a little scared that the stranger might be following him back to his dorm room. However, when Castiel burst through the door and spun around to check, there was no one in sight down either end of the hall. A loud sigh of relief left his lips and he slumped his shoulders as he shut the door, his stomach heaving with each tired breath.

"Sounds like you've had a rough day," spoke a voice from behind Castiel, causing him to jump and whirl around in surprise. There, on his bed, sat none other than Castiel's dorm mate Balthazar, a British transfer with a love for wine.

"Wow. You really have had a rough day." Balthazar's voice was soothing for Castiel, whose heart hammered less violently in his chest at the sight of his best friend.

"No kidding," he said breathlessly and a little sarcastically, harshly throwing the soaked papers onto the floor and tossing the unfortunately empty coffee cup into the rubbish bin a few feet away.

Castiel tugged at his tie, loosening it from his sweaty neck all the while knowing that Balthazar's eyes stared intensely with each movement. He glanced over at his friend that now nursed a wine glass in his hands, taking note of the concerned look on his handsome face.

"The hell happened to your work, Castiel?" His friend asked, picking up the crumpled heap of now useless, previously beautiful projects and dumping them in the bin.

"Spilt coffee on them," Castiel whined forlornly, already collapsing on the fake leather couch with an overloaded, incredibly old sketchbook sitting open at an unused page on his lap. "I bumped into this guy down the hall."

He started scratching at the page with his sharpened pencil, roughly tracing in oddly shaped squares and occasionally flicking back to previous pages for ideas on a template design. Soon enough, he was drawing a tall man positioned in a battle stance with a huge, decorative sword in his hands.

"How's this Japanese comic, or whatever it is, of yours going?" Balthazar asked to break the deafening silence, leaning over Castiel's shoulder and staring down at the page.

"It's called manga and, technically, this is a graphic novel. There's a difference in the drawing styles. Manga focuses more on the -"

"Yeah, that's enough, Cassie." He felt Balthazar gently pat his shoulder and Castiel sighed. His friend never took much interest in Castiel's excessive knowledge of the art world, even though Balthazar currently studied ancient Egypt for his history course - a time when the alphabet itself was quite artistic (aka hieroglyphs).

A heavy sigh escaped Castiel's lips and he slipped a slight, sad glance at the ruined papers wasting away in the bin and he knew he would have to replace them as soon as possible.

"It's going to be a long night."

\- Scene -

The loud ringing of an alarm startled Dean out of an extremely rare, peaceful night's sleep. He glared at the clock that sat on the dressing table between the two beds and unhappily slammed his hand down on the snooze button. At this time of the morning, Asia is not a great band to wake up to.

"Sammy, get your ass out of bed," he growled at his brother and dorm mate that lay in the bed pressed up against the wall, furthest away from the door. This particular set up had been created by Dean, so he could protect his giant little brother if he needed to.

"Dean, if it bothers you so much, get a new roommate," groaned out a disgruntled and sleep deprived Sam. He had stayed up all night studying, much to Dean's protesting at his bright desk lamp, which was somehow disrupting his so called beauty sleep.

"Planning on it," he exclaimed. The only reason the two brothers had been placed together was because there were no other available dorms at the time of their arrival, but now that quite a few people had suddenly dropped out, Dean was allowed to move out.

Dean hopped up out of bed, ruffling his brother's shaggy hair with one hand as he poured coffee into his favourite mug with the other. He grinned at the grade A bitch face Sam sent him and sipped at his coffee, relaxing visibly as the caffeine started to work its early morning magic.

"Ah, ain't nothing like coffee in the morning," he stated happily, downing the rest of his burning hot coffee in just a couple of large, noisy gulps.

"Maybe, but the early brother gets the shower first!" Dean lunged for the bathroom door but it slammed shut in his face, Sam's laugh and the click of the lock from the other side only annoying Dean. He slumped down on the edge of his bed, losing focus as his thoughts took over.

After a minute of relaxed daydreaming, Dean blinked a few times, slightly disoriented for a couple of seconds until he stood up and set his mug down, using his other hand to drag his pajama pants just past his hips. He changed fast, planning to have a shower later on in his new dorm.

The key rest in the bowl - which was Sam's idea, by the way - near the door with the room number written neatly on the tag. He was only moving one floor above his brother, which thankfully wasn't too far. Although, rumors had reached Dean's ears that his new roommate was a little... funky.

Dean shrugged. His roommate really couldn't be that bad, but the way some people had spoken about him made it seem like this dude didn't have very many friends. Well, considering Dean became the handsome heartbreaker within his first few weeks at the college, his roommate was about to become pretty popular.

Snatching the key out of the bowl along with the keys to his precious Baby out in the parking lot, Dean called out a "see you later" to his brother and casually strolled out of the room, unaware of the short guy in a trench coat rushing down the next hall with a file in one hand and a full cup of coffee in the other.

 **A/N** **-** **hi** **:)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N** **-** **chapters** **will** **be slightly** **longer** **from** **now**

* * *

Decked in blue jeans and multiple layers of flannel would be the best way to describe the few members of the Winchester family. Their clothes scream "bad boy" and their looks are always ready to steal the next hot thing with two legs, but those particular traits seem to only shine through Dean.

Dean Winchester was sexy, to put it bluntly, and he knew it. He worked out often for his rock hard abs and though his English and math skills may not have been the greatest, he sure had a natural talent with instruments and choosing a perfect fast food diner based solely on their pie selections. Being a one-night stand kind of guy, Dean had never settled down for longer than a month, but that never stopped girls (and sometimes guys) from flocking.

Scale down a couple of years and you reach Sam, almost the complete opposite of Dean. Samuel Winchester was huge. Reaching a height of about 6'4 meant quite often ducking to get through doors, but at least he no longer had to stand on a chair to reach the cereal. His diet, unlike Dean, mainly consisted of what his older brother liked to call "rabbit food" and the occasional smoothie or beer (the only thing on Sam's menu that Dean loved to drink). Sam studied law at the University and almost always had his nose buried in a book, but his desirable looks also got him a fair share of girls in healthy, usually long term relationships.

Counting down in years again and you reach young Adam, who would have been nearing his final year of high school if it weren't for his recent illness. The youngest Winchester was born to a different mother, but that made him no less than Sam and Dean's "baby" brother as he lived his life in hospital. The terminal, hereditary cancer attacked poor Adam because of his gene mutation and put a halt to his childish dream of becoming the greatest baseball player in the world, a dream that he still held dear.

The boys' biological mothers were long gone, although that didn't mean they loved them less than their adoptive mother and father. Bobby Singer and Ellen Harvelle, both partners but unmarried, had taken the Winchester brothers in when their father suddenly disappeared and the boys would forever be grateful. Bobby and Ellen treated them like their own Joanna Beth, who was twenty-four and running Ellen's old, yet perfect Roadhouse bar.

Dean sat on the bed in his new room, pondering how much he missed Ellen and Bobby, who remained back at home in the rickety old house in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Not that he would admit it out loud, but Dean felt rather lonely without the creak in the worn floorboards or the somewhat comforting smell of rusting cars and whiskey. It felt as though he were empty, that there was a black void somewhere inside him that loved the thought of home.

Taking a deep breath in through his nose, all that Dean could smell now was bacon in a frying pan, which had wafted in through the window. He suspected that it was his neighbour cooking breakfast and although it did smell inviting, Dean decided against visiting whoever was next door until he sorted his room out.

He stood up and wiped his hands on his pants, an old habit of his from constantly fixing cars and getting all sorts of grime on his hands. Glancing around the fairly empty room, Dean realized that he never actually noticed how spacious the rooms really were in the University. It was much bigger than his small room back home and the beds were, surprisingly, fairly far apart; he had forgotten that when both him and Sam arrived the first thing they did was push their large beds closer together. An extra bonus was that all the rooms had their own private bathrooms, but they weren't anything spectacular, just a shower (baths were removed and banned back in '91 when someone overflowed all the baths in the house), a toilet, and a small vanity with a built in sink.

All in all, the room was perfect.

Dean wandered around, that somewhat happy, new room feeling overtaking his emotions as the soft carpet sunk very slightly with each step - it had not yet been worn through - and it made Dean feel like he was walking on a cloud (he had never walked on new carpet before).

He found himself standing before the glass sliding door that let out to a small balcony, a recent installment as the board believed that quicker and easier access to fresh air was healthy for the brain or whatever.

Dean went to unlatch one of the windows, but chose not to and just slid open the door, pleased when it smoothly rolled open (unlike the door his and Sam's dorm). He inhaled deeply, instantly regretting it when the neighbour's perfectly cooked bacon that was how accompanied by eggs reached his nostrils.

"What a cliché breakfast," Dean muttered to himself, his mouth watering and his feet already taking him inside and to the hallway door. He just had to find out who this amazing cook was... and if they baked good pies.

A short, sharp knock on the door alerted Dean's possible future friend of his presence, and they thankfully wasted no time in answering the door. However, what Dean definitely didn't expect, was a long haired girl with cute, faint freckles and sparkling blue eyes.

"Yes?" she asked cautiously, snapping Dean out of his confused trance.

"Hi, I'm Dean and I noticed you have bacon." He grinned innocently, flashing his pearly white and perfectly formed teeth.

"What's up, Han Solo. Name's Charlie Bradbury and yes, I do have bacon." Dean felt proud to be nicknamed after one of TV's greatest flirts, his chest puffing out as he silently followed the inviting girl into the room.

She gestured for him to have a seat at her round table and he gladly obliged, taking short note of the Harry Potter coasters and place mats before a knife, fork, and porcelain plate with greasy bacon on it were shoved in front of him.

Drool embarrassingly slipped past his plump lips at the sight of the pink, crispy strips emitting the entrancing scent and Dean had no thought of wiping it away as he stabbed his fork into the bacon, hastily cutting at it with his knife and feeling no regrets over his piggy behaviour.

Over the delicious breakfast, the college flirt and nerd became the best of friends within minutes. Their mutual obsession with bacon and Star Wars made them both wonder where the other had been for their whole lives, but the real jaw dropper of the lengthy conversation was the mention of the boy Dean ran into the other day.

"He was really tiny - scrawny, I mean... but I guess he was kinda short too." Dean found that once he started, he couldn't stop. The mere thought of the "sweater boy," as Dean called him, and his coffee stained masterpieces stuck to Dean's mind like glue, he couldn't shake him off as just another passing person.

Charlie listened intently, her smile getting wider with every word and she was just about jumping in her seat when Dean finally managed to stop babbling. "Han Solo's got a crush!" she had shouted, pointing at him accusingly. "On a boy whose face you didn't even see!"

The possibility hit Dean like a freight train. No, there was no way he was gay. His father had raised him better and Bobby had never brought the subject up - Dean just assumed that Bobby and Ellen, like all other adults he had met, were homophobic too. Dean, without hesitation, denied Charlie's claims with a dead serious glare in his eyes before quickly changing the subject.

"So, what's a girl like you doing over here, anyway? No one's gonna keep it in their pants if they see you in the morning," he stated honestly.

"Apparently my glorious, flaming homosexual presence was making all those Disney Princesses uncomfortable."

Dean just about spit out his delectable bacon.

"What?"

* * *

On the floor below was the sweater wearing art student with his head on his desk and his eyes shut, the frown that usually graced his young, handsome face replaced with blissful peace as light snores emitted from deep within his throat.

Castiel had spent the entire night working; the shadows under his eyes told everyone so. It had been so many hours of torturous labour that his hand was ready to be cut off and his now short, stub of a pencil had to be thrown away. Never had so many pencil shavings littered his desk (alongside the disgusting pool of drool from when he accidentally dozed off).

He shifted in his seat, his very unpleasant dream - nightmare, would be the more accurate term - starting to affect his physical body. A light whimper could be heard from the poor boy and his fist clenched the tiny wooden pencil, his knuckles whitening and the sharp lead puncturing the centre of his palm. His eyes shot open and he jumped up, yanking the pencil and clutching his hand as he let out a short shout of pain, drops of blood trickling out of his small wound.

Unable to tear his eyes away from the deep crimson painting his sweaty skin brought an unsettling feeling to Castiel's jerking stomach, the contents threatening to spill out violently. He gripped his shaking hand even harder and he was starting to feel numb from the circulation being cut off.

"Cas? You up?" A loud knocking dragged Castiel out of his quickly approaching panic attack, once again jumping in his seat as the door opened to reveal Balthazar. "Cassie? Are you okay?" Flinching at the pet name, Castiel only nodded, breathing deeply as the pain in his hand subsided into a dull throb.

"I'm fine now," he honestly replied in a hoarse voice, paying no attention to his roommate's look of concern and gathering up his sketchbook, eraser, and useless pencil - he threw this in the bin. "I'll see you later."

Castiel, with his head bowed low, rushed out of the room, taking extra care to glance down the hall for the tall man that he had bumped - more like crashed - into the day before. He didn't need that happening again, not after a work filled night that resulted in tired eyes and a minor self-inflicted stab wound. No, he certainly did not need something like that to happen again, and yet he still felt that stomach wrenching feeling that the first time really wouldn't be the last, that he was somehow going to bump into the stranger again.

Feelings of dread had always plagued the insecure boy ever since he was young and it had only increased when he had been confident enough to finally announce his sexuality. However, expecting his classmates to be accepting of his love for men had been a downright mistake for Castiel, as he had never before then experienced the fears of being a victim of homophobic attacks both verbally and physically.

Ever since then Castiel had been too afraid to speak of his true feelings. He locked them up deep within his mind and quite often thought about the ironic comparison between him, anxiety ridden Castiel, and the romance novel protagonists that he so loved to read about.

But Castiel knew he wasn't a book character that could be magically whisked away from his problems by a Prince Charming. In fact, his initial thought on the matter would be: Who would ever want to write about him?

Who would want to write about someone who was terrified of their own sexuality, who wasn't strong enough stand up for what they believed in?

A loud sigh flew past his lips and his shoulders slumped as he clutched the sketchbook even tighter to his chest, slinking down the hall quietly like a bug that was unwilling to be caught; that's what he felt like a least, but as he passed by a room on a lower floor, the smell of smoke distracted his thought process.

"Hello there, Castiel," he heard his neighbour ask. Castiel had two people living either side of his room: a guy named Thaddeus, and Crowley (aka the King of Hell). What Crowley was doing two floors below his room was beyond Castiel, but he assumed it had something to do with the oddly smelling cigarette in his hand - not that he wanted to know.

Describing Crowley in one word would be fairly easy. Crowley, that's it. His own name seemed to fit so perfectly that most people started to think that maybe the evil, rebellious guy gave it to himself. Although, if that was the case, then absolutely no one knew his real name, not even the teachers.

"Morning," Castiel replied, barely audible as he took a minuscule, almost unnoticeable step to the side. Crowley scared Castiel. There was something in his eyes, a malicious glint that had the younger boy's instincts going berserk with fear.

What was said next was unheard by Castiel, who just wanted out of there as soon as possible. Hurriedly speaking a duplicitous apology and a lame excuse, he scurried off, not looking back as the nauseating smell of whatever was in Crowley's cigarette faded into a distant memory.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N - After some research, I have discovered the** **Samhain** **is NOT a demon. It is an ancient Celtic festival, although the whole "undead among the living" thing is true (if they mentioned that in Supernatural, I can't remember)**

Chapter 3 - Joker and the Thief (Part 1)

* * *

Halloween arrived quick for the students of the University and the buzz of superstitious pranks and spooks filled the minds of the hardworking young adults, who all still took pride in extremely unrealistic costumes that showed way too much skin and scaring young children that walk the shadowy pavements during the night with no care for their safety. However, even though terrifying younglings with cheap dollar store princess costumes or sheets with crooked holes cut out was, without a doubt, awesome and fun, every student was instead pumped for the massive traditional Halloween party.

Every student except for Castiel Novak, that is.

He had always found Halloween celebrations to be in bad taste and that it highly disrespected the ancient Celtic festival Samhain - the origin of Halloween. It was believed by the Celts that the barrier between the worlds of living and dead would be at its weakest and that the souls of the dead - ghosts - would roam the living world. Feasts were offered and places at dining tables were set to welcome the dead or assortments of food (now candy for children) were left outside as an offering to "please" the spirits.

Despite being an art student, Castiel had always enjoyed reading up on the origins of celebrations and had a knack for history in general, but the one thing he had always loved looking at were the beautiful artworks created for when there were no cameras. Artists had envisioned such glorious events that had been set before them simply as words on a page and had expressed, with all their passion, the wonderful imagery that came from those words.

That was what inspired Castiel when he was young boy. He wanted to show the world what _he_ thought it would look like, he wanted to share his thoughts and feelings through the majesty of a paint brush and canvas. Of course, the first thing he painted was a few experimental swirls; he let his emotions surge free through his veins and eventually end at the tips of his small fingers that shakily gripped the old paint brush, the red coated bristles sticking out at odd angles from clumsy misuse.

"What are you painting?" his kind teacher had asked him in a soft voice, knowing and respecting that Castiel hated and often evaded conflict, shouting, or any form of loud noise.

"My feelings," he replied carefully and with some difficulty, never taking his eyes away from the unnecessarily massive sheet of paper tacked to the smooth wood of the children's sized art stand before him (though it had been much bigger than him at the time).

A small grin made its way onto the man's face. He still had that sheet rolled up somewhere, collecting dust along with all the other artworks he had kept and not sold, most of them being from his childhood. He chuckled to himself, shaking his head at the floor as if suddenly remembering an old, ridiculous joke in the eye of the public.

Cheerful screaming in the distance brought Castiel back to the situation at hand - literally. Held delicately between his long fingers was a bright orange, childish looking invitation with clip art designs and even a word art title, practically demanding him to turn up to the party. Never before had he received an invitation and he could only assume that someone like his elder brother must be planning the party, considering his brother Gabriel's love for games, pranks, sweets, and anything else that children thought were necessities in their day to day activities.

Gabriel even watched "Dora the Explorer" on a daily basis, for Christ's sake.

The bee enthusiast scoffed,scrunching up the paper and burying it under various items in the trash can. Perhaps he could convince Gabriel the next morning that he had never received any invitation. No, he couldn't lie to Gabriel. He tilted back in his comfy desk chair with his eyes closed, frowning as he thought of what to do - as helpless and terrified Castiel felt in even _family_ social gatherings, he absolutely hated disappointing his brother.

"What do I do?"

He mused on the problem he faced for what seemed to be the longest minute of his life, even though the decision would usually be easy for him. Every year before, Castiel had blatantly declined, but now that his older brother was involved...

His pondering went unanswered for a very short amount of time as the door flew open, the inner handle slamming into the wall with a sickening crash that made Castiel cringe. The blue eyed man barely had to look around to know who exactly had interrupted his train of thought.

"Hey, Castiel!" Gabriel screamed with unappreciated volume and enthusiasm, making Castiel flinch like some poor hungover sod. "How's my baby bro?"

The younger brother of the two sighed in his gravelly voice. "I fail to understand your view of infancy, Gabriel, as I have been very much capable of walking, talking, and feeding myself for many years now." His head tilted to the side and his eyes narrowed into a squint, an old habit he kept from his childhood.

"Always the same with you, Cassie. I hope you never change." Novak the younger scoffed, still having no clue whatsoever as to what his older brother was even talking about.

Not even a second later and Castiel's usually tidy room was in a mess, his older brother picking things up - in random order - and somewhat examining them before tossing them over his shoulder to either land somewhere undignified on the floor or to be caught by an exasperated Castiel.

"What do you want, Gabriel!" Castiel cried desperately, panting from chasing his brother around the room and hurriedly attempting to fix the mess he had created. Tears stung in the corners of the younger man's eyes from his excessive amount of "exercise" and he dug into his pocket for his inhaler.

"Oops! Sorry, Cassie," he exclaimed, making his way over to kindly pat Castiel's back. "I just came to remind you about tomorrow night." He spoke in a much gentler voice, knowing how sensitive young Castiel was about his asthma.

"Leave the door unlocked," he replied in a quiet whisper, staring wistfully at the floor with a slight smile tugging at his lips.

"Always." Gabriel grinned as he hooked his pinkie finger with his brother's at their sides.

* * *

No one could have felt more uncomfortable than Castiel the following day as shelves upon shelves of costumes were shoved in his face, some reasonably normal like old fashioned ponchos and cliché boots for a cowboy, but he also noted that a few of the outfits stashed in Gabriel's closet - much to the younger brother's embarrassment - were a little...kinky, to say the least.

Bright red had tinted Castiel's cheeks as he averted his eyes, looking at anything other than the unnecessarily small and unrealistic outfits being thrown at him from the giant, walk in closet.

Gabriel's house - mansion, actually - was in close proximity to the University and was bought with the funds from Gabriel's sweet company _Heavenly_ _Host,_ which happened to branch off into various other products after businessmen searching for partners had taken interest in Gabriel's beautiful recipes and crafty hands. However, Gabriel himself still liked to hang around his original sweet shop, decorating cakes and baking what is said to be America's best pies.

"We don't have all day, Cassie!" Gabriel whined, poking his head out from the dark shirt he was pulling on. His reply was a grade A bitch face and the flip of Castiel's middle finger, making him chuckle loudly.

Castiel's search began, his hands digging through the mountain of clothes on the floor. "Well, what are you going as?" he asked, praying internally for a reasonable answer.

"I'm going as Hookman." With a raised eyebrow, Castiel turned to look at his brother and almost screamed when he saw a bloody metal hook hanging out of his coat sleeve. "The old legend of that priest Jacob Karns? I read you that as a bedtime story, remember?!"

"No, Gabriel, you scarred me with nightmares for five years after forcing me to _live_ the story," he replied bluntly with venom dripping off his tongue, his eyes narrowed in terrifying anger.

His reply was a shrug and Castiel seethed at his brother as he whipped a jumbo pink lollipop with bright red swirls, which really shouldn't have been in his pocket in the first place, with a big toothy grin plastered on his face. He licked it slowly and moaned with extreme exaggeration, Castiel cringing visibly at Gabriel's pathetic antics.

"I hate you." His reply was short and seemingly without empathy, but judging by the smug look on Gabriel's face, he knew that Castiel felt so much different towards his incredibly short older brother with the candy addiction.

A witty remark made to escape his brother's small lips, but the loud, constant ringing of the doorbell being pressed several times caused Gabriel to snap his mouth shut, a look of surprise on his face.

"Is it time already? Damn!" He bent down and grabbed the closest costume to his feet, throwing it at Castiel and demanding that he put it on before he rushed for the door, the long leather trench coat of his terrifying costume flapping behind him.

Shaking his head and letting our a lengthy sigh, Castiel smoothed out the crumpled outfit in his hands, lifting the costume and studying it with a raised eyebrow. It was a spectacular looking Joker costume complete with a scruffy green wig, though the possible tightness of it - especially the slacks - concerned him.

Either way, he was going to have to wear something and it definitely wasn't going to be the full leather Catwoman outfit accompanied by six inch heels.

As soon as he was dressed, Castiel could faintly hear the beginnings of the party on the floor below, though there was no music yet - it would start once the clock hit eight and the sun had fully descended from the baby blue sky. Distinct male voices reached his ears as they were quite loud, but there seemed to be no one else there yet. He visibly relaxed, he had time to at least do a fair job on the make up.

Boy, was his face going to feel stiff all night.

Thin layers of white paint were fairly easy to apply and they thankfully dried quickly, but as Castiel glared into the mirror for the umpteenth time, he once again rubbed at the pitch black eye-shadow, feeling as though his uncontrollable view of perfection was distracting from the disheveled look of Heath Ledger. The stick of bright red liquid lipstick found its way into his hand when he was finally satisfied with the eyes, painting large dollops of it on at a time and smudging it along his lips and cheeks it before thickening the middle of each side - he figured it would add effect for the "scars."

All in all, Castiel thought he made a pretty good Joker after ruffling up his sightly dirty looking wig even further.

He was finally ready to head downstairs.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 - Joker and the Thief (Part 2)

The upstairs landing situated at the top of the massive staircase faced quite a large window and as Castiel stared he could only wish his trusty camera was in his hands. Slowly setting in the distance was the blazing sun, the burst of fiery colours contrasting beautifully against the darkening blue and the faint grey of the clouds.

Beneath him were various costumed people sauntering in through the door, some of them dumping unopened packets of crisps on the large buffet table decorated appropriately for the occasion. On the far right end of the floor was a bar and hired tender serving the best quality beer and wine to the enthusiastic patrons, somewhere underneath the balcony Castiel stood upon was what could only be described as a huge sound system set up in front of a large pair of double doors with many CD's just begging to be played, and to the left was an extension of the dance floor.

There were hardly any tables and chairs in sight, the very few of them placed in front of the bar taken up by the early arrivals with cup stains already defacing the polished wood. On the center of each table there was a large plastic bowl filled to the brim with assortments of themed sweets and surrounding the bowl were small skulls, vampire teeth, cobwebs, and other Halloween decorations.

Castiel averted his attention to the students, already feeling the paint cracking against the skin of his face when he frowned. Never had he seen a scientist without a shirt. Surely that would be extremely dangerous.

"I see you're checking out Bill Nye the Science Guy over there." A rubber hook clapped on his shoulder, startling him from his confused daze. Gabriel flashed him a suggestive smirk, but he should have known that Castiel found no appeal in under dressed students.

"I'm not "checking out" anyone," came the blatant reply before a loud obnoxious huff.

"Whatever you say, Cassie."

When the sky began to darken, the music started up a steady beat and even more students filed through the door, a lot of them already holding bright red solo cups that are only ever seen in movies. Castiel stared with interest at the excited crowd mingled together without a second thought as to who was who - it even looked as though sworn enemies had abandoned their ties and danced up against each other inappropriately.

With unappreciated encouragement from his brother, Castiel mustered up the courage to join the students on the floor below rocking and swaying to the heavy pulse of the music, but at the alarming rate of Gabriel's alcohol being consumed, Castiel guessed he would only be able to tolerate the cramped spacing and overused cologne for a short while.

He could thankfully feel very few eyes on him as he quickly descended the grand staircase with his brother in tow, resisting touching his hand to the railing on the way down to somehow avoid looking like what Gabriel called a "pompous ass."

The bar was what caught the young student's interest the most and he approached without a second thought, grabbing the closest untouched drink and downing it instantly, feeling ever so slightly more relaxed when the unidentified liquid slid down his throat like fire - he had a bit of a taste for strong burning drinks.

He slammed the shot glass back down on the bar, subtly demanding for another of whatever drink it was - which happened to be Whiskey - and plopped himself down on a tall bar stool that would have left his feet dangling in the air if it weren't for the stretcher. He crossed his ankles, resting the bridge of his left foot against the stretcher and leaned back slightly to prop his elbow up on the edge of the counter. He had full observational view of the floor, the way Castiel liked it.

Searching the room for a brief amount of time, he caught the eyes of the student Gabriel compared to Bill Nye staring at him from one of the tables close to the bar. Although it seemed that he didn't quite understand where Castiel's own eyes were. The "scientist" offered a highly exaggerated wink, parting his coat even further to reveal his lean chest, his dark skin glistening with sweat. Slightly disgusted, Castiel averted his gaze in hope that the drinking student would stop staring, but he instead caught the eyes of another individual.

Bright green that could only ever be depicted in romance novels and the best of animated Disney films bore into his and Castiel couldn't care less about the bodies of those around him that passed by in an absent blur, leaving everything unfocused but the tall man before him, who seemed to be just as unable to look away.

Even better, he was dressed as Batman.

Castiel found it to be quite ironic in his academically advanced mind, but he couldn't find the voice to laugh as it had caught up in his throat, suffocating him with a sweet torture that this tall stranger brought upon him within seconds of being in the anxious boy's sight. Eyes unwillingly traced down the masked face to the plump pink lips that stood out against softly tanned skin and a light stubble, bringing Castiel's mentality to its knees.

He could tell that he wanted this stranger and his heart beat rapidly in a lust driven state, threatening to burst through his ribcage and tear him apart from the inside out. Trouble surrounded the stranger - it was a deadly aura that seemed to latch itself onto girls and the occasional boy passing, drawing them into his infectious smile as though it were a great parasite.

However, what truly terrified Castiel about it all was the fact that he knew he was caught. It was game over the second the disease had hit him full force when he glanced into those eyes.

The man seemed to move with a smooth swagger that had been practiced frequently to the point where it was all too natural. Around the tables he moved, dragging costumed fingertips along the decorated table cloths and swirling them through the false stringy cobwebs. He maneuvered around tables and those groups of people that were standing parted like a red sea for the large looking male whilst he sauntered over to where Castiel sat at the bar.

Tension continued to build and by this point it would have so strong that it could be felt from the other side of the room, which Castiel confirmed was pretty far. Down the hatch went another drink and the burn brought feeling back to Castiel's rigid body, his shoulders rolling and his neck clicking in a failed attempt to relax whilst the ironically dressed stranger sat himself down on the stool next to Castiel's with a cheeky grin parting his lips and revealing pearly white teeth.

"What's your poison?" His voice was incredibly smooth and playful, subtle suggestions of something much less innocent balancing on the tip of his tongue. A curious frown etched its way onto Castiel's brow.

He was certain he had heard that voice before.

"Whiskey," he answered as nonchalantly as he could, even though he knew his averted eyes betrayed him.

* * *

A tight grin pulled against the confines of Dean's mask when the Joker before him said his preferred drink. It happened to be one of his personal favourites.

"Shots, on me!" He called down the bar, glancing at the surprisingly accurate figure of the suited up man with the painted face, unknowingly taking extra care to slowly drag his eyes down the stranger's thighs.

"You don't have to do that." He seemed nervous, almost uncomfortable with the entire situation, but Dean shrugged in response with plans to just drink his brains out and screw the closest girl with an attractive body. He had a reputation of stealing a hot girl to uphold, not that it was a good one in anyone else's books.

Only a few shots later is when Dean starting feeling the effect. His vision was clouded with desire as his legs screamed at him to get up and dance, but the only thing that kept him from moving was the seemingly irresistible urge to grab the not so crazy Joker and defy the laws of DC movies and comics alike.

But no, Dean Winchester was _not_ into boys.

At least, that's what he continued to tell himself over and over with each glass he raised to his lips. His green eyes flicked from person to person, none of them sparking any appeal within the eldest Winchester brother. What he did see, unfortunately, was his moose of a younger brother sitting quite comfortably with someone on his lap.

"Get some, Sammy," he said to himself with a little laugh even though seeing his brother in such a position with some stranger scarred images into his already disturbed, dirty mind.

His attention turned back to the extremely quiet Heath Ledger beside him - which hilariously contrasted with the real Joker, in Dean's opinion - and watched with interest as his tongue peeked out through red lips, licking it across his cracked lipstick in a small swift sweep.

As Dean drank more and more, he couldn't help but to eventually rest his hand beside the other's on the bar they now faced, gently brushing his fingertips in an innocent flirt when he noticed the loosely sitting green wig upon his head.

Dean wondered what his hair was like under that wig. Maybe it was a sandy blond that made him look sixteen, or maybe it was a charcoal black! A cheeky grin appeared and he ran his fingers up the arm of the Joker, who tensed and stared out without any sort of acknowledgement.

He didn't push Dean's hand away either.

When his fingertips finally reached his shoulder, he left them there for a second to search for any sign of discomfort before he traced them up the other man's neck, watching in amusement as his hands fidgeted and his leg bounced in what seemed to be desperate impatience.

"I don't know about you, but my year's been pretty interesting so far," Dean exclaimed lightly, attempting to make small talk.

"How so?" Dean was surprised at his response. He assumed that the surprisingly awkward guy would have avoided any conversation, although buying him more drinks probably contributed to most of it. As soon as Dean laid eyes on the guy from across the room, he could just sense the internal screaming of "I don't want to be here!"

"I stole something."

"Whoa! What?" He honestly didn't seem very surprised, but instead of a deep look of concern, Dean saw, in his bright blue eyes, a seemingly secret urge for adventure.

His fingers grasped at the wig, tugging it off in one swift motion and sprinting away as he cried out, "Your wig!"

* * *

"Well, if ya really wanna know what's happened this year, I bumped into a little someone." Dean gave an indecent wink and waggled his eyebrows despite that he was referring to himself. Boy, his ego even aggravated himself at times. "Like seriously," he added, "the dude was really freaking short!"

He looked down, feeling the amusement of the coffee situation pour out of his mouth.

Ha, pour.

He laughed harder and he shook his head at the terrible pun, probably earning himself a weird confused look from the already lost fellow next to him. Shooting his eyes up proved him to be right.

The sad puppy beside him with squinted blue eyes and a tilted head was incredibly lost (and panting slightly from the wig chase). Dean couldn't help to admit that it did look kind of cute.

After a minute of silence, he finally decided to speak up. "I suppose my year has been rather eventful. I also "bumped into someone," as you say, but they managed to spill my coffee all over my artwork."

He had sounded more and more annoyed with each word that neared the end of his sentence. Dean's eyes were wide as saucer and the muscles in his body froze.

He couldn't believe it. It must have been a coincidence that the one guy he managed to crash into like the start of a cheesy cliché romance novel was sitting before him with his back against the wall dressed as the Joker to his Batman.

But what if it wasn't coincidence? "That was nice artwork too," he spoke suddenly and out of turn, surprising both himself and the Joker. However, he seemed to look absolutely outraged.

The response was simultaneous, both men staring at each other in shock as they pointed accusingly at the other.

"Wait, _you're_ sweater boy?!"

"You're the coffee guy?!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Warning: innuendos, minor language, MEME. Best read on a phone!**

 **Chapter 5 - Wipe Out**

* * *

When Castiel rose from his bed in the morning, the first thing he noticed was that he couldn't tell the difference between the ceiling or the floor. Everything seemed to be out of focus and spinning - and it definitely wasn't because his contacts weren't in.

The second thing he noticed was that he wasn't alone. Beside him, above the covers, was a bare muscular arm and if he looked a little closer, Castiel could spot faint freckles. He would have thought they were kind of cute if it weren't for the dawning realisation that he had no idea who this was.

"Oh, my Chri-"

"Morning!" The curtains were forced open and a blinding light shone into the room. Castiel let out a short shout and covered his eyes, silently cursing his brother for being a lover of the morning.

He recognised the room from the lower floor of the mansion, it's slightly less than lavish design lacking any character and looking more like a plain hotel room than a candy man's bedroom. The bed, placed in the centre of the room, was surrounded by a wardrobe to the left, and a rounded oval rug the size of a door lay on the floor at the foot of the huge bed.

"Well, well, well, Cassie! Who is this hunk, eh?" The younger Novak could practically hear the smirk in his brother's voice and he lowered his arm to find just that, added with an eyebrow raise.

He spared a glance at the stranger beside him. "I don't know who this is," he whispered loudly, upset that he had spent the night with someone entirely unfamiliar to him and that he couldn't remember the night at all.

"This," came a muffled husky voice, "is Dean Winchester. I'm an Aquarius, I love long walks on the beach and frisky women - aka straight as hell, we did nothing, I have a killer hangover, let me sleep."

Disappointment seemed to show on Gabriel's face, but Castiel couldn't care less. He was more than relieved - he generally ran away from threats to his asexuality, but when intoxicated, a rare feat in itself, he often had no thought or control over his actions.

It turned him into a hormonal teenage beast.

"Cassie, you really need to get yourself laid," noted his older brother, whose sad eyes stared deep into Castiel's, attempting to drive the idea in his head like a nail into a coffin.

"No." His reply was blunt, short, and full of truth. He didn't want to have sex. He didn't need to have sex. Sure, he would "perform," as Gabriel so gracefully put it, to impregnate a woman, but there was no desire or lust behind the act. He just saw it as another chore - something he had to do to satisfy other's needs.

Pleasure had not been a part of Castiel's life since his high school days, when grabbing the first girl he saw fit and screwing her into oblivion was a weekly, even daily, event. He desperately wanted to keep it that way, especially since the student body managed to figure out which team he actually favoured (not that he didn't support both if you get what I mean).

He shuddered at the memory he had kept locked away for so many years.

"Your brother's right you know," said the deep-voiced man next to him, now laying quite casually on his back as though nothing of the situation even bothered him at all. "'Cassie,' you gotta get you and your bright green Joker dick up some girl."

He blinked, taking the brief moment to process exactly what Dean, otherwise recognised as the previous night's Batman, said. He gently touched his fingers to his chin in thought and quickly withdrew them when a small flake of cracked white paint rubbed off.

"Oh."

"You look like shit," wheezed a laughing Gabriel, who clutched his stomach and doubled over. His face began to burn bright red and short, gasping, hyena-like "shrieks" passing his lips from lack of air.

Beside him, still surprisingly cool about the whole ordeal, Dean had sat up, shifting his gaze from Castiel to the older Novak with concern written on his face. A thought crossed his mind, it might've been wise to dial for an ambulance the moment Gabriel cracked.

Castiel was beyond pissed, his jaw clenching. "You didn't care to tell me this before, why, exactly?" he finally asked when his inappropriate brother had managed to calm himself to small giggles.

"Because you always look like shit."

As vague memories returned to his mind, he ignored his brother's comments and the prying Winchester. At least he had some conscience to drink only a fair amount - his hangover would surely be over once he greeted the day with adjusted eyes (and his contact lenses).

The previous night, from what he could envision, had been much more eventful than any other attempted social gathering for years and it was all thanks to Dean Winchester. Meeting the man himself had dragged the inner whore out of Cas, his body itching to, as he had so inappropriately thought, work that pole. And he definitely didn't mean the one in Gabriel's play room.

He grimaced. Mental images of his brother's more than vulgar "Basement of Entertainment" were certainly scarring. Perhaps even worse than, which was most certainly a story for a different day.

Remaining silent, he watched as the timeline of the previous night played out in his head from Dean's arrival that dropped draws and raised dicks, all the way to the rather embarrassing discovery of their roles in the coffee incident. Castiel was still really mad about that, by the way, but what really bothered him was that an entire half hour was missing.

Rarely had the youngest Novak been unable to recall social events as they usually left him with some sort of emotional scar either because of something like his brother's adult room or his mother telling a story of young Castiel crapping his pants and crying about it. Each second that revealed a blank slate made him more and more anxious - what if something had happened and led temporary arch enemies (Joker and Batman) to their current predicament?!

The thought itself terrified him.

"I'm going to leave now," came a somewhat hesitant voice to break the awkward silence, both Novak heads turning sharp together with an identical glare directed at Dean. "Okay, that's creepy."

Castiel watched, quite intrigued and amused, as Dean literally rolled out of the bed and crashed onto the floor, accidentally slamming his head into the corner of the low to the ground bedside table. He spared a quick turn of hs head to his brother, who looked just as shocked as he. Oh dear.

He shuffled himself over to what was previously Dean's side of the bed, feeling how comfortably warm the sheets were under his body and reached over the side to poke the bigger man's shoulder. There was no movement in return so Castiel grasped his muscled arm and shook as hard as possible - there was no response.

"How the hell did he knock himself out?!"

"Well, the hangover helped," Gabriel joked.

He raised his eyebrows and stared at Gabriel, his face screaming the Castiel version of that "seriously?" meme. "Do you really have to make jokes about this?" ***Honestly he looks more like Newt Scamander when he sees his Niffler in the shop xD**

"Yes."

The younger brother slammed his palm to his forehead, trying and failing to cover up the visible wince that came after. He had forgotten about his own hangover and now that his initial shock over Dean even being there in the first place had gone, the pain was beginning to return.

"Fuck me," Castiel cursed for the first time in a while.

"Rather not, thanks. But I think he would."

"FUCK OFF, GABRIEL," Castiel roared at his brother, hauling his pillow quite pathetically at him and simply stared blankly, watching his it barely hit his chest then fell to the floor. "I didn't think this through," he noted.

* * *

Castiel spent his only class that day in a daze. His attention was never on his teacher and he assumed she knew it; at least Mrs Tran had left him alone to his thoughts. He twirled a spoon between the tip of his forefinger and the table surface, his body leant to one side and propped up on his elbow on the table with his hand cupping the underside of his face. Staring absentmindedly out the window, his thoughts were plagued with Dean and somewhat blurry images of his smiling face clad in a Batman mask.

He had yet to remember what happened during the missing half hour - it was straight after Dean had stolen his bright green Joker wig. From what he could tell, the chase was quite thrilling. They had constantly crashed into other people and objects, but what entailed after seemed to excite him more. However, that was where everything just went blank. He could only recall the feelings he felt afterwards until, finally, the visuals returned to Dean's shocked face.

 _"Wait, you're sweater boy?!"_

 _"You're the coffee guy?!"_

He would never forget those words. They had stung in his throat like he had swallowed a vicious bee. For some reason, Castiel felt betrayed and incredibly hurt. It seemed that, for a while, he felt as though he could trust Dean and have a real friend other than Balthazar but now that Castiel knew Dean was the one - the one who forced the already stressed out man to slave over steaming pots of disgusting coffee and no sleep...well, let's say that he was reasonably mad.

That morning when Castiel returned to his dorm room in his clothes from before the party and head of sex hair, Balthazar had certainly assumed the worst of his friend and actually celebrated with a large glass of wine. The poor British sap, who had also gone to the party with a couple of girls, was on the verge of tears when Castiel told him nothing had happened, although Castiel guessed it was because he quite loudly claimed that the "celebratory wine" had to be poured down the sink.

It was quite amusing watching Balthazar empty the glass down the drain like he was saying goodbye to a lover.

His thoughts wandered back to Dean who, from what he knew, was still passed out on Gabriel's couch. Now that he thought about it, Castiel knew that having a bedside table so low to the ground was dangerous - what was it even there for, anyway? It seemed to serve no purpose other than giving a 6'2 man a huge bump on his head. It even looked ugly.

"Castiel, mate, you alright?" He turned his head to the Australian kid next to him, simply nodding his head to avoid unwanted conversation. He couldn't even remember his name. Some sort of recollection would have come up if the boy was something special - an undiscovered talent - but no, from what he knew. Nothing the boy created sent sparks flying in Castiel's mind and it made him wonder what the kid was doing in a photography course.

He turned back to staring out the large window, eyeing the leaves of the tall trees as they swayed from side to side with the wind. "I'm perfectly fine," he answered politely, trying and failing to stay in focus. Dean was really getting to his head. At least it was better than-

A text alerted him, his phone vibrating uncomfortably against his leg and making him feel oddly asymmetrical. As he whipped out his phone from his pocket, he saw that the spoon he had been fiddling with was upside down. It didn't look right. He grasped it and flipped it the right way up as well as aligning it perfectly with the unused paper and pencils on his table. Everything was straight, the way he liked it. **(Ayyy 2016 words. Fuck you, 2016.)**

Castiel distracted his mind from the table to check his phone, reading from his brother that Dean was finally awake and, apparently, confused. The text was unnecessarily long and separated into about eighteen texts. Damn Gabriel.

He flicked his eyes back up, noticing the various chips of wood torn off from the corner of the table. It was very distasteful and he reached his fingers up to scratch at it, thinking that it didn't look right. Sharp pains attacked his fingers with each movement but he didn't stop, he wouldn't until it was satisfying.

His fingers started to bleed.

* * *

 **Oh, my! What's happening to Cas?! I know! But I ain't telling y'all ;) Not a very long chapter, but it's one of my personal favourites so far because of the Novak Brothers moment. And the almost Destiel ;)**

 **OH MY GOD is telling me I have 51 advanced issues and that I need to upgrade to premium x'D Jesus fucking Christ I would but I'm broke asf!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you for all the reviews so far on (I post on Wattpad too)! Don't worry** **furyofnature** **, the Destiel fluff will start soon, I promise! WARNINGS: probably some mild language. AND I KNOW I'M ALMOST A MONTH LATE! I'M SORRRRYYYY!**

* * *

 **Chapter 6 - Early Coffee Never Does Anyone Good**

Late in the night, hunched over his desk with a single lamp on, sat Dean, scribbling vertical dashes and angled dots onto the lined paper. From only a few feet away came loud, obnoxious snores that Dean had been putting up with for the past while.

When Dean moved into his new dorm room, he found it void of most things and clean - there were no signs of a "funky" roommate whatsoever. However, after returning home from his new friend and neighbour Charlie's dorm, he whisked open his closet door and nearly screamed at the sight and disgusting stench of a man curled up tightly in the corner. On the passed-out man's head was a severely ruffled up mullet and in his hand, was a half empty can of beer.

"Wake the hell up, man!" Dean had shouted with a smile on his face, finding it amusing once the initial shock had faded. He ended up kicking the scrawny man (whose named turned out to be Ash) and, when he finally awoke with a start, helped him with his hangover – it was the worse one Dean had ever seen, although Ash seemed to be chill about it. The encounter blossomed into an instant friendship.

Dean laughed quietly to himself, taking a moment to look over at the computer genius, whose mullet was sticking out in all sorts of places – some of the strands were even in his mouth and covered in drool. Turning back to his dimly lit desk, he sighed and picked up the plain black photo frame sitting on the right just under his lamp.

In the photo was him, Sam, and Adam, although they were all dressed in Superhero costumes and sitting on the roof of Bobby's old shed, all of them smiling proudly. Dean stroked the protective glass fondly, right over his two brothers' small, frozen bodies, before setting the frame back down in its rightful place.

Dean continued to slave over his latest score for a few more hours, dotting down a repeat sign, hoping desperately that he could finish it in time. On his mind, almost the entire time, was a certain deep-voiced man whose drawings he had accidentally destroyed. He wondered whether Castiel had any precious photos on his desk, and, as he drew more crotchets and quavers, Dean continuously asked himself: would Cas like this song?

He pounded his fist on the desk and shook his head rather violently. Thoughts of Castiel had been unfortunately plaguing his mind for days and it terrified him. Not only was Castiel a man but a man that Dean had only just spoken to twice – the first time for 30 seconds and the second time he could barely remember.

"What the hell am I gonna do?" He picked up his pen, clenching it tightly in his fist. "Just get out of my head, already!"

Another music stave, another treble clef, and another bar of notes. His entire body felt heavy, his hand was starting to ache, and Ash's deep snores were starting to become too much. Sparing a quick pause, he listened with an amused smile as the low grunt of heavy breathing began to sound more like pig snorts.

"I'll have to stop soon," he stated to himself while his eyes drifted in and out of focus and he knew that not even coffee could give him the surge of adrenaline he needed to complete his task. The score, begging to be completed, would have to wait until the following morning.

Dean stood up, flicking off the pathetically dim desk lamp as he did so, and as he slumped onto the edge of his bed, he rubbed his face with his hands, breathing a sigh of somewhat relief from the comfort of the mattress compared to the pitiful desk chair, which whined unhappily and just about collapsed under his immense weight. His hands slightly pulled and stretched his skin before he joined them together, palm to palm, his forehead resting on the tips of his fingers and his elbows propped on his knees.

"Hey, mom." He took a deep, almost shaky breath. "I know I haven't talked to you in a while – not like this, at least.

"I miss you and I know Sammy does too. Adam's really sick and I know he isn't your kid or anything but remember that thing you said about the angels? You're an angel, right? Angel of, uh, pies or somethin'? Anyway, Adam needs you.

"He's got some kind of terminal cancer, mom." A single tear slipped down his face, faintly staining his cheek. "They said the only thing that'll cure him now is a miracle but, uh, anyway, I met this person – a dude – and I don't know what to do. I can't get him out of my head and it's just confusing the hell out of me because I know that I'm not gay or anything and- I just- I don't know. Amen, or whatever."

Dean sat there for a short while longer, relishing in the comforting silence – Ash's snores had ceased for the time being – before he kicked off his untied boots and fell sideways, breathing out a long sigh when his head crashed down onto the pillow. His tired eyes closed and he allowed sleep to whisk him away into an unrealistic dream.

* * *

Castiel, in between his photography and painting courses, had been invited out to coffee with one his only and closest friends. In the early hours of the morning was when Charlie called, skilfully dropping onto his balcony from the one above and persistently tapping on the glass, waking poor, tired Balthazar.

The past week had seen Castiel remaining awake to either three in the morning or all night, his constant pencil scratching and frustrated grunts and groans often keeping his British roommate up past his limit (which was surprisingly early), so a loud, slightly obnoxious Charlie visiting so unexpectedly at four in the morning easily sent Balthazar spiralling into tired insanity.

Castiel sipped his refreshing Starbucks drink, thinking of his significantly less enthusiastic friend and roommate.

"How's that guy you told me about?" Charlie asked suddenly, the excitement of her friend's latest juicy gossip shining in her big eyes.

"I wouldn't know," said Castiel, still neglecting to inform Charlie that the man constantly interrupting his thinking was Dean Winchester – a total whore and, coincidently, Charlie's new neighbour. What a small world, Castiel thought to himself.

He turned to stare out the window, mentally praying for Charlie to either change the subject or just shut up entirely; she thankfully chose the latter. Flicking his tongue out to the side, Castiel awkwardly fished through the air for his straw, feeling an embarrassed heat rise and warm his neck when Charlie laughed loudly.

As he continued to watch small crowds of people pass by, some he recognized from classes, some he had never seen before, his heart almost stopped and dropped to his suddenly weak knees (thank god, he was sitting down, otherwise he would've collapsed) as his eyes latched onto the figure of none other than Dean Winchester.

"Damn it all to Hell," he whispered, unable to take his eyes off the considerably taller man strutting over to the very coffee shop Castiel and Charlie were in. He had a pretty girl with him and they were joined at the hip, though Castiel couldn't help but notice Dean's somewhat subtle (it was obvious to Castiel) annoyance with the chittering girl, who didn't seem to want to let go of Dean's arm.

"Dean Winchester?" Charlie asked, clearly directing her suggestive question at poor Castiel, who watched with eyes like a hawk's as Winchester and his girl walked straight past their table up to the admittedly attractive barista behind the counter.

"You staring at man-whore's ass over there or the barista I wouldn't mind tapping?"

Castiel glared at his friend. "Neither," he stated without hesitation. "Although the barista…I suppose I can see where you're coming from. She's quite pretty."

He jumped, his heart jumping more beats than he assumed it was supposed to, when he felt a hand heavily slap down on his shoulder. A light, hearty voice that Castiel more than recognised spoke up, enthusiastically greeting Charlie.

Gabriel.

"I have no clue," he started, shoving Castiel to the opposite side of the couch and taking his place opposite Charlie, "why you hang out with this loser." A lopsided grin was shot Castiel's way and he responded with a slap to the back of his brother's shaggy head.

"Holy mothers, wash your hair, Gabriel!" Castiel withdrew his hand, staring at it with mock disgust. "Get it off, get it off!" He made a dramatic show of waving and shaking his hand around, amused at the annoyed look on Gabriel's face.

The two of them, Castiel and Charlie, laughed together, slapping their hands together in an epic, across-the-table high-five. "Look at us," Charlie choked out between seriously concerning bursts of hyena-like laughter. "A lesbian nerd that lives in the guys' dorm, a pansexual – actually, I have no idea what the hell you are, Gabriel – graduate, and an asexual dork with a crush on the hottest guy on campus. What are we, the golden trio from a book?"

She downed the rest of her drink in one massive gulp and slapped some bills down on the table as she stood from her seat. "I'd better head off," she said, reaching across the space to ruffle first Castiel's, then Gabriel's hair, both scrunching their noses in reaction.

"See ya later, alligators," she called on her way out, sparing them another look and a wave before she skipped out of the building, the key-chain figurines attached to her backpack crashing into each other as she did.

"You know, I never did get why she likes anime so much," piped up a deep voice from behind them. Castiel whipped around and almost had a heart attack – Dean Winchester and his girlfriend (Castiel honestly couldn't give a damn about her) had been sitting at the table behind them the entire time.

How much had he heard? The thought alone was enough to make Castiel shiver in fear, although he seemed more distracted with a lonesome hair on Dean's face that had fallen out of his spiked style. It annoyed the crap out of him and he absentmindedly grabbed it between his fingers, harshly yanking it out.

"Ow! What the hell, dude!"

Castiel twirled the single, light brown hair between his forefinger and thumb, staring at it with a surprising interest before tossing it off to the side. As though nothing went wrong, he simply looked up at Dean and blinked.

"It was bothering me."

Almost absolute silence followed – despite being in a coffee shop at five-thirty in the morning, there was still the obnoxious clashing of cups, plates, and knives and forks along with the general hum of whatever coffee machine magic were going on behind the counter. All four of the group felt awkward, occasionally brushing back a few hairs or shifting in their suddenly uncomfortable seats.

"So," started Gabriel rather loudly. "What did ya think of my party, Lisa?"

"Epic," replied the girl beside Dean, who had finally decided to speak up and give herself a name other than "Oh, look, it's Dean Winchester's next thing" (although Castiel ("Jesus, just let go of his arm already; what are you, a mosquito?") still couldn't care less about her presence).

With a smile playing about his lips, Dean hummed out a small noise of encouragement at his little fling's opinion, adding a slight, sharp nod of his head. "Freakin' brilliant."

Castiel would have chimed in his agreement. Despite being quite the introvert, he had, somewhat hesitantly, admitted to himself that his brother's Halloween party had turned out to be better than he had expected. Again, Castiel would have agreed, if it weren't for the suspiciously smug look and mischievous spark in Gabriel's eyes that alerted his worry.

What was Gabriel up to?

"Well, we all know that Dean and Cassie here had a right blast."

Both Dean and Cas daringly shared a nervous glance, a bright red heat creeping up the back of Castiel's neck. Someone spilling the beans about the embarrassment of the morning after was the last thing he needed, especially not Gabriel, who often blew things way out of proportion.

"What do you mean?" asked Lisa, whose grip had visibly tightened around Dean's arm – if it were any tighter, his arm would probably fall off.

Gabriel's grin spread even wider, stretching eerily from one ear to the other.

"Have you not seen the video?" His voice was melodic and creepy like a terrifying Jack-in-the-box had popped out covered in blood and started singing "Ring Around the Rosie." In Gabriel's hand rest his phone, a YouTube video set up and waiting to be played.

Castiel nervously fidgeted in his seat, reluctantly reaching out to play the video. Straight away, he recognised the loud shouts of glee and pumping background music from his older brother's Halloween party.

Unmistakably, Castiel could spot himself in his bright face paint and mismatched get up – the bright green wig on him was enough to make anyone cringe – but what really caught his attention was the black-clad body pressed up against his in an intimate embrace.

"Gabriel, what is this?"

"If I remember correctly, this is eleven-fifteen to eleven-forty-five, aka your so called 'Missing half hour.'"


	7. Chapter 7

**It's happening my dudes! The moment you're waiting for! Scream it with me! DESTIEEEELLLLLL! I apologise for being late by, like, a month? A month. Oops.**

Chapter 7 – When Bros Become Hoes.

* * *

Castiel stared in shock at the video and Dean looked almost repulsed but by what, he didn't know. Was it the video? Was it the fact that they were making out at a party? Was he a bad kisser? Did Dean not like him at all? Everything rushed through Castiel's head at lightning speed, making him nauseous and afraid.

He couldn't take his eyes away from the lengthy video, slightly intrigued as Batman-Dean dragged Joker-Castiel away from the wall, onto the dance floor, and, oh…

"Oh, god," murmured Dean, who rubbed his hands over his eyes then blinked continuously like madman – it was as though he was trying to see anything but _that._ Castiel would have done the same had he not felt somewhat… excited over it.

Castiel glanced over at the other two to see Gabriel grinning evilly and Lisa practically on the verge of tears. "I think we'll leave you two alone for a minute, you know, to talk about… this," Lisa said quietly before briskly leaving the coffee shop, dragging a disappointed Gabriel with her.

The phone was left behind.

"I can't believe this," said Dean.

"What… what am I doing? This cannot be right, I would never-!" Castiel was confused and upset, although he was mostly angry with himself. How could he betray his asexuality (or Celibacy, if you prefer)? He would never have thought it was possible until his brother showed him the video.

When the horror finally ended, Castiel looked over at Dean, who simply stared straight back at him. He tried to clear his head but with each second he gazed into Dean's emerald eyes, he could only see the embarrassing video.

Clearing his throat, Castiel reached up to tug at his tie, to loosen it and prevent the nervous sweat from building up, but something in his head screamed at him, "No!" He lowered his hand and clenched it into a fist on his thigh instead.

There was absolute silence, which Castiel appreciated, and he took the moment to process everything. There was no doubting he considered Dean attractive – vague memories from the party told him so – but did he actually _like_ him, as Charlie thought?

He didn't know what to think. Sure, Dean had a pretty face, perfect teeth, and a contagious laugh that lit up an entire room but, Castiel thought to himself, the cons seemed to outweigh the pros in the situation.

Dean Winchester is a downright cocky bastard.

"And a whore," he dryly whispered out loud, somehow unable to contain himself from speaking up, even though it was true. There was no lightly putting it. Dean was not a "player" but a woman-stealing, cocky, obnoxious, sexy, beautiful whore that Castiel just wanted to pin down on the table –

"No!" he shouted out loud, slamming his fist down on the table and earning a couple of weird looks from other early morning customers, including Dean.

He avoided looking back into Dean's eyes, looking at anything else around the room instead. "I mean, what do you think we should do?" he asked hesitantly, fearing Dean's answer.

Suddenly, Dean stood up from his seat without uttering a single word, dragging Castiel up with him by the arm. "I'm taking you on a date," he questioned more than answered and it sounded like he was unsure himself, which terrified Castiel to no end.

Dean scooped up his bag before they both headed out of the store, Castiel not even worried about leaving a sufficient tip as his focus was clearly somewhere else, and, despite the cons, Castiel knew that he only wanted to think about the pros.

As they walked down the street, Castiel couldn't resist the small smile that pulled at his lips. Beside him, Dean looked deep in thought, his eyebrows knit together in a concentrated frown that only made him appear even more beautiful. It was like frowning was natural on him.

The younger out of the two hesitantly reached over to gently grip the other's hand but as soon as their fingers touched, Dean quickly withdrew, panicked and wide-eyed at the sudden gesture.

"S-sorry," squeaked Castiel.

He glanced over, cheeks red in embarrassment, to see that Dean had stopped short in his tracks a few steps back, his jaw dropped open in what looked to be surprise.

"What's wrong?" The Novak boy tilted his head to the side, something that had become a force of habit when he was a child. Winchester simply shook his head and marched on, looking at the ground as he snatched Castiel's hand, cupping it in his own at his side but not lacing their fingers together.

This time, it was Castiel's turn to be shocked but he played it off quickly, savouring the feel of Dean's rough, hard-working hand in his own. He unconsciously squeezed it and nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt the other reciprocate the action.

They walked and walked with no apparent destination. Several times they had passed a potential restaurant, fast food joint, and a few other places that could be an appealing stop for their date but Dean simply sauntered on, a hardened look on his face as he began to lead the other out of town.

By now, the sun had begun to rise, the dark blues and purples vanishing from the sky, being replaced by vibrant oranges, reds, yellows, and pinks. Castiel would've loved to have painted it, or at least photographed it but he had neither his camera nor his canvas.

He only had Dean at his side. And he was fine with that.

It felt right, walking next to Dean, and even though he no clue where they were going, Castiel just knew he could trust him.

Soon enough, they ended up standing outside a creepy looking forest that was still shrouded in darkness. If it were an anime, there would have been crows flying about the place and a think, silver mist in the air. Branches hung low from trees and some even looked as though a giant bear had shredded them.

Castiel stammered, "Is this where you smile and pretend you're not going to kill me?" He absentmindedly scratched at his arm from his wrist all the way up to the crook of his elbow, where his rolled-up dress shirt and sweater sleeves rest.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Where did get that idea? There's just something beyond those big ass trees I wanted to show you," he replied in all seriousness, gesturing to the forest.

* * *

Convincing Castiel to follow him into the forest wasn't easy – Dean felt just as sceptical when he was first brought there – but there was absolute certainty in his mind that it would all soon be worth it.

Although patience wasn't one of his virtues, Dean stood silently beside Castiel as he pondered with a slightly anxious look on his handsome face. He silently begged for him to hurry up and make his decision – the urge to whip around and run into the ashy ruins plagued his every thought.

Many times, Dean had surrendered and rushed over to the chaos of charred remains of his childhood home. It happened about sixteen years ago, but he could still picture every inch of the house like it was the back of his hand (which, coincidently, constantly gained and lost a few freckles, so his argument was invalid).

He could also remember each second of that fateful night.

Baby Sammy was coughing and crying helplessly in his little arms, his precious skin dirtied from the disgusting smoke that poisoned the air. A small photo frame on the wall had fallen onto Sammy's body, shattering and sending glass into both of their faces. He had managed to protect his brother but Dean wasn't so lucky, large pieces cutting through his scalp and ears, albeit fortunately missing his face.

To make matters worse, the flames had caught up with him and set his pyjama pants on fire, but he sauntered on, ignoring the searing pain as much as he could while he dodged past falling debris from the roof. His legs and shoulder (which was also burned) were permanently scarred up but he was thankfully spared any major damage.

As he continued to wait, he could feel the burning pain tear at his burn scars.

"Dean?" There was a snapping of fingers in his face and he broke out of his daze, turning to Castiel, whose face was scrunched up in pain. "Can you let go of my hand, Dean? I think you're about to break it."

He instantly did as he was told but played it off with a forced smirk. "Guess I don't know my own strength, huh? Anyway, we gonna go in?"

Castiel nodded and Dean couldn't have been more relieved. He grabbed his hand again, much gentler this time, and stepped into the forest, inhaling the calming smell of the undisturbed plant life.

Dean carefully lead Castiel through the pathless forest, stepping cautiously to avoid snapping too many sticks and tripping over tree roots. It was one of the reasons why he constantly came here, there was no trail, therefore no unwanted visitors.

Pushing past one final bush revealed a small clearing to the boys, one where Dean often spent his alone time between and after classes. It always reminded him of a sweet little paradise. In the centre of the clearing was a tall tree, unlike the others, in all its prime, think branches extending out and just shying away from the dark, twiggy spikes poking out of the forest trees.

With Sammy in his arms, little four-year-old Dean had sprinted over the gravelly road and into the forest, not caring as wooden claws scratched viciously at his face. He hugged Sammy, occasionally whispering anything he could to console his sobbing brother, and slowed his pace.

He had stumbled over a tree root and, to catch his lost balance, stepped into a bush – the very same bush that leads into the clearing where he now stood, cradling not a baby boy but the hand of someone his own age, who was rendered completely speechless at the glorious sight before him.

"Where are we?" Castiel finally asked although it sounded more like an astonished whisper.

"Paradise," Dean replied, staring up at the bright sky overhead. "I come here a lot – it's really quiet here – and I just sort of… you know, clear my head a little."

He looked over at his friend, whose face twisted into a frown, which Dean couldn't help but admit was adorable. "It's the first place I could think of to bring you, but next time we go out, you got to take me somewhere special to you. Got it?"

He smiled as Castiel's nod. At least the whole awkwardness of it all had settled, albeit Dean still feeling uncomfortable with his companion being a guy. Telling himself that they were just two friends with something extra was easy, but cheating on Lisa left a feeling of dread within his mind.

Dean dropped his new friend's hand, ignoring that look of disappointment and inviting Castiel over to sit with him beneath the giant tree.

"You weren't wrong about big ass trees," Castiel commented after a few minutes of golden silence. He gestured to the creepy forest at the edge of their little haven and Dean only nodded, unsure of how to respond. Soon enough, Castiel returned to picking at blades of grass, rubbing them between his fingers, and tossing them off to one side.

A gentle breeze washed over them, dragging brightly coloured leaves along with it. Something else appeared, falling from above, and both men watched it until it slowly floated down to the patch of ground between their outstretched legs. Fabric. Specifically, it was a large tear of thick cotton – the kind used to make pyjamas.

Dean recognised that old, jagged piece of clothing. Those faded green and blue squares, the charred, ashy edge, and the small spot of blood on it were all too familiar, and it felt like a terrible fate for it to appear. Suddenly, it vanished into Castiel's hand and Dean watched with wide eyes as his friend brought it closer to his face for inspection.

The look on Castiel's face was one of pure fascination and Dean would have thought it was adorable (he had come to terms with the fact that he had a strange attraction to Castiel by now, though it still made him feel terrible) if it weren't for the cloth in his hands. "This is really, _seriously_ old, Dean. Isn't that just amazing?"

"Uh, yeah, it's great," he replied, a fake, uncomfortable smile on his face.

Castiel leant closer to Dean, breaking through his precious personal bubble and almost touching their noses together. "Dean, I know you're worried about that Lisa girl, but can you at least pretend you enjoy my presence?"

His words struck a nerve within Dean and, as he moved away from the now labelled "boundary breaker" Castiel, he cleared his throat. "Look, man, you're cool and all, but I can't just cheat on Lisa." Dean inwardly cringed – even he could feel the slap he just delivered.

He looked over, feeling sheepish, almost jumping when he saw Castiel's face. "Would you really consider it cheating if you don't even like her?" He sounded just as angry and confused as he looked, his tone somehow even deeper than it had been before. Dean thought for a minute, knowing that Castiel was right, but he was too stubborn to admit it.

"What are you talking about? I like Lisa!" There was a certain truth to it – Dean _did_ like Lisa and though she was a clingy bitch sometimes, she was one of the best girls to be a part of his life. The only thing was that he liked Castiel more.

Speaking of the devil, Castiel scoffed loudly and knowingly. "You looked uncomfortable for every second she was on your arm. Who even takes their girl to Starbucks at four in the morning, anyway?"

"Honestly? Someone in a crappy fanfiction."

There was a slight pause before both Dean and Castiel burst into loud laughter, scaring a murder of crows from the trees around. The argument wasn't forgotten to Dean, however, and he sure Castiel was thinking the same thing, but neither of them brought it up again, nor did they comment when their hands mutually reached for the others.

They sat in silence once again, their hands linked together while Dean subconsciously stroked his thumb over the soft skin of his new friend's hand.

"You know we have classes today, right?"

Dean glared at Castiel for ruining the moment, but as the sun slowly rose higher and higher into the bright blue sky, Dean knew that they'd have to cut their "date" shorter than he would've liked. He stood, stretching his stiff legs. How long had they been sitting there? Dean didn't know or care and offered his hand to help up Castiel, who accepted it without hesitation.

As they left the clearing, trudging back through the forest the same way they had come, Dean daringly twisted his hand a little bit and pushed his fingers through Castiel's, feeling his ears and neck burn red when he did.

Castiel squeezed his hand and Dean reciprocated, smiling a little at the notion and letting all previous doubts fly from his mind. For once, things were looking straight up for Dean and he wasn't about to let that out of his grasp.


End file.
